


to wear a crown of roses is to wear a crown of thorns

by TheFamousFireLadyM



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: 99 percent bullshit 1 percent screaming at my keyboard, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Flashbacks, Gen, Ghost Sex, Not Canon Compliant, Older Woman/Younger Man, Reunions, an attempt at historical accuracy, does it still count if hes a ghost?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-29 16:39:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13931046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFamousFireLadyM/pseuds/TheFamousFireLadyM
Summary: All men have families, even men who would have the ocean turned to blood with the bodies of their enemies. All men have histories, no matter how distant it may seem. One such family, one such history, comes back to haunt, or be haunted by the ghost of a dead man.The widowed wife of a certain martyred missing Capitan has heard the legends and wishes to see the butcher of the sea with her own eyes.





	1. Chapter 1

“Boat coming up port side. They wish to board, Captain.”

Jack put his telescope down. “Their captain is a woman.” He made a face, squinting through the bright light. “Let her onboard.”

With a thump her boots hit the deck, and she strode past the gawking crew. The shirt she wore was loose with nothing beneath, cut low in a vee to reveal the smooth dark skin between her breasts, barely concealed beneath her blouse, a gold cross blazing like fire between the twin rises of her chest. The way she moved, though, was panther like, all lithe muscle beneath her clothing. In a way, it could have been attractive had she not been terrifying.

“I'm looking for the one they call Jack the sparrow.”

“Yes, hello. That's me. Unless you're going to run me through with that pointy bit of steel a’yours, then it's not me, and, um.” He picked out a random crew member and pointed at him. “That one is Jack.”

She punched him square in the face.

“I don't remember exactly why I deserve that one.” When he recovered, staggering back, she had a sword to his throat.

“Lemme guess, I broke your heart and your youth wasted away?” He leveled his wobbling gaze at her, squinting like he was trying to recognize her.

“No, _puta madre!”_ she pressed the sword to his throat, backing him to the wall. “You killed my husband!”

“Oh.” He frowned. “Well, a lot of men have been rendered deadlike from things that may or may not have been caused by yours truly. Haven't had many angry widows. Just a great many satisfied ones.”

She made a disgusted noise and hit him with the pommel, sending him crashing to the deck below again.

“Mi amor,” she muttered, under her breath, in Spanish. “Perhaps you would be right in killing him.”

“Oh, a Spaniard. That really narrows it down.” He tapped his mouth with his fingers. “Your jolly sailor bold, was it? What was his ship called.”

“It was a massive warship called the Silent Mary.”

He choked on the rum he just lifted to his lips, and spluttered. “Come again?”

“My husband was on that ship, and you killed him.”

“To be fair, the ship was going to kill me first. Somehow I think this is better than getting beaten by the wife of a less important crew member of a less important ship.” He said, slurring his words worse than usual and falling back down.

“I wouldn't hasten to agree, Captain.” Gibbs called from somewhere behind the crowd that had gathered as soon as the livid middle aged valkyrie strode onboard, making a beeline for Jack. “Well, are you just going to stand there or take her to the brig?”

She went without incident. Didn't even fight it, like seeing Jack knocked out on the ground was reward enough.

“And the crew?” Gibbs called, and she announced, arms behind her back, and struggled for the first time at the threat of her crew being hurt: “My men fear God. They do not fight. Let them go.”

The ship pulled free of its mooring and sailed on past them.

The men threw her into a cell, and she settled into the corner. “My men sail for Spain, for home. They won't be coming back.”

“This was a suicide mission, aye?” Gibbs stood outside the door. “Kill Jack or die tryin’?”

“He deserves worse.” She surged toward the door, hands curling tight around the bars.

“So he might. What brings you to _this_ , to the sea?”

“Revenge. I…” Her hair fell loose past her shoulder like a silver curtain. “The sparrow once destroyed everything I ever had.” She stared at her palms, calloused and scarred and dirty. “My husband. I was a war widow, raising a daughter he never met. My daughter. She lives without her mother, spent her whole life without her father. I abandoned her for this, a pointless dream. If I kill him now, will that be it? What will I do?”

“You expected the crew to tear you to shreds.”

“In not so many words.”

“And now. You're here. He doesn't intend to kill you, I don't believe.”

“Mm.” Jimena answered, unclenching her fingers and clenching them again. “I don't fear death.”

“Nothing worse than death?” He asked, and her hands gripped the bars tight enough to hurt.

“I've done enough to warrant hell a thousand times over. I fear no punishment more than guilt.”

* * *

28 years prior, Valencia, Spain

_“Announcing Jimena Violante Rosa-Maria Guadalupe De Leon Espinoza, my eldest and only daughter, now eligible for marriage.” She was breathtaking, dark hair curled in an elegant style, brow adorned with small white flowers pinned in her hair, the only modest finery she wore. Her thick eyebrows graced her face with a seriousness he found, somehow, irresistible, and her mouth was good natured, corners upturned ever so slightly._

_She lifted her chin, regarding him without caring if he saw her do so. Her green eyes, sparkling, met his and held on, only flicking down once to size him up in his officer’s uniform. The olive silk of her dress matched her eyes, he realized, as he approached her. The words were having trouble coming, and he lowered his dark gaze, catching a glimpse of the same kind of flowers in her hair pinned to the bust of her dress._

_“Would you care to dance?” Her voice was low, husky, distinct in a way that made excitement flare somewhere in his stomach. Her lashes were long as she peered at him out from under them._

_His arm wrapped around her narrow waist as he turned her around, taking his time with each sweeping dance step. When he looked at her, her heart swelled in her chest and her lips curved up in a smile. His mouth didn’t move but she could see the laughter in his eyes._

_“Shy, are you?” She asked first, and he ducked his head. That got a soft laugh from her, and his palms were growing clammy at her back._

_“Do.. you have many suitors?” He managed to ask, clearing his throat as the music picked up, and they were surrounded by dancers once more._

_“One. My father’s apprentice, but he only wishes to marry me to take over the business once my father passes. He’s going to have a difficult time wrestling it from my brothers.” She rolled her lips between her teeth to hide a smile, gaze dropping for a moment before returning to him. “That is, if I accept.”_

_“Will you? Accept, that is?”_

_“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” She answered, coyishly. “There is no line of men waiting to dance with me. Word travels fast of my stubbornness. La Burra Espinosa, they call me. I’ve heard the names.” She looked away briefly, not wanting to show him her expression, how the name still stung._

_They danced all night. She never quite left his arms, at least, not for very long._

_It was three arduous months of silence, not knowing what happened to the mysterious naval officer that had held her spellbound and then vanished into the night, except for the letters he would send, before he requested to court her, and there he stood, looking just as handsome as ever. Her gown was a robins’ egg blue, and he thought she was beautiful, absolutely magnificent._

_“Shall we walk through the garden?” She offered her arm and he clasped her hand so carefully in his own._

_Jimena carefully crouched and picked a flower, the same white flower she wore when he had first met her and placed the sprig in the buttonhole of his coat. “There. So much better now.”_

_A quiet laugh escaped him, and he clasped both her hands in his own. “It has been made all the more beautiful by the hand that has picked it.”_

_“A flatterer,” she gathered her skirt in her hand after wresting it from his grip, and he pulled her closer by the narrow waist, feeling her heart beat so quick. Her palm brushed his chest, pausing at his shiny new medals. “Perhaps you can keep this flower to remember me when you go out to sea next time.”_

_“Perhaps.” He murmured, head bowed just enough to brush her ear with his lips. Her face burned and so did his. She turned, only a fraction, and his lips met her cheek. Her green eyes flashed, before her slender fingers traced elegantly up the side of his throat, through his sideburns. His dark eyes fluttered closed, mouth slack. He made a move to pull back, an apology ready on his tongue, before Jimena flattened her palms on his cheeks and kissed him. She blinked after pulling back, almost dazed. “You will be gone soon enough. I fear you will not return.”_

_He laughed, and nodded, clasping her hands together again. “I fear the same, but pray for me, mi amor.”_

_“Mi amor, then?”_

_“I…” He ducked his head, to hide the heat rising in his cheeks._

_“On the sea, you are brave, but now, you are hiding from me.” Jimena lifted his chin in her soft palm. “Is it me you fear?”_

_“No. Of course not.” His voice was low, gaze wandering a few feet ahead of him. “I simply have never felt this way before.”_

_Jimena’s eyes screwed shut, and she took a breath. “I wish for you to marry me.”_

_“Do you fear I will not?”_

_Jimena’s face turned toward him, an incredulous expression making itself known. “My father--”_

_“I am honorable. He must know this.”_

_"I know."_

* * *

 

She opened her eyes to the dim gloom of the brig, slow rolling of the ship soothing in a way she couldn't name. She would find El Matador Del Mar if it killed her. Knowing the legends, it probably would. 


	2. Chapter 2

27 years prior, Valencia, Spain 

_Jimena sat, pensive, silent as the grave, on the chaise, pale skirt surrounding her like the petals of a flower as he paced the floor, hands clasped behind his back._

_“Señor Salazar.”_

_“Lieutenant.” His gaze snapped up, eyes focused on her father's face._

_“Ah. Of course. You're a naval man.” His eyes flashed, and that was the master manipulator she recognized. “And why do you believe I should allow you to marry my daughter?”_

_“I cannot give her anything she does not already have. I have the means to supply the luxuries she is accustomed to, and to keep her well in my care.”_

_Jimena lifted her chin to cast a glance at them as they spoke._

_“Do you wish to become my heir?” He gave Armando a wary look, measuring him. “I have sons for that.”_

_“I have my own legacy to live up to, Señor.”_

_“Smart words.” He considered the younger man. “And that legacy?”_

_“I..” He lifted his eyes to her father's face, before bowing his head. “My family has been sailors, captains in their own right. I wish to live up to my father's memory.”_

_“Do you love my daughter?”_

_“What?”_

_Jimena moved to stand, gathering her skirt in indignation, but he held up his hand to stop her._

_“You call on her, and have been for months. And now you ask for her hand, yet you have no interest in my fortune.”_

_“No. I would not do that to her.”_

_“Oh?” He smiled, and Jimena’s heart was feeling like it were about to burst from her chest._

_“Then you do.” He crossed the room, and took Jimena’s hand, bringing her to him. “What do you think, my sweetest? Do you love him?”_

_Jimena met his gaze and held it, feeling hot all of a sudden. “He is kind, and I fear for him every time he leaves. I…” Her voice trailed off, and she lifted her hand to her throat. “I do. I love him.”_

_“Mi hija,” he began, lifting her hand to rest on his. “I give you my blessing.”_

* * *

A voice called her from her reverie, and her green gaze snapped upward to the figure blocking out the narrow thread of light that trickled like freshwater down the stairs. 

“Well, well. Looks to be your lucky day, milady.” The man called from behind the metal bars. “I hear you tried to kill the captain as soon as met him.”

“The bastardo ruined my life.”

“Ah, join the club.” He stepped into the light and she stood, grasping at the bars as she noticed his lack of a leg.

“Let me go and I'll help you. You want him dead as much as I do.” She got up close to his face and the look of surprise that flashed across his expression made her smile quirk up.

“And in exchange, you will tell me where my husband is.”

“And why should I know exactly where he is?”

“El Matador Del Mar is back, is he not? I have heard the rumors. Take me to him. He must know where my husband is.”

“And why should I do such a thing when he's slaughtered my men like babes? You should know he's a pirate hunter.”

She grabbed at his lapels, hauling his face in close to the bars, hard enough to hurt.  “You have met him. Take me to him. I must see him with my own eyes. My reasons are my own, do not question them.”

“A tall order for a wench old enough to be a grandmother.”

“I _am_ a grandmother. Take me to him.”

He let out a bark of a laugh at her direct way of speaking. “Then perhaps we are in agreement, if you join me and help me get Jack Sparrow. I've got a debt to pay.”

“I want to see him suffer. He killed my husband.”

“Ah, one of _those_ , are you?”

“Did he jump ship?” She asked, anger seeping into her words, impatiently moving from foot to foot as he unlocked the door.

“It appears so, m’dear.” His tone was mocking.

“You will take me to him.”

“We already be taking that course of action. I'd prefer to keep my head where it's at right now.”

“What?”

Before he could respond, a loud voice shouted “Ship sighted!”

A quick look of fear crossed his expression before it was gone, and they flew up the stairs and crossed the deck to starboard, him whipping out a telescope. “This day truly is a lucky one for you, milady. The Silent Mary is approaching us.”

She snatched the telescope from his fingers without a word, and he gave her a scathing look of shock as she lifted it to her eye, surveying the ship that seemed to fly toward them on the sea.

Her mouth fell open, and she furrowed her brow, confusion evident across her features. “How is that ship fit for sailing?”

Behind her Barbossa squinted at the horizon. “A mystery for the ages.” She cast a look at him over her shoulder and he took the telescope back from her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not entirely sure where in the movie this takes place but listen slight au


	3. Chapter 3

 

He landed on the deck with a low hollow thump, like a body dumped off the pier. Salazar looked around, eyes never staying in one place long. His feet dragged in a way that seemed painful, and she took a step out from behind the mast, still leaning on it.

He was still the same man, despite his pallor, despite the loose hair that floated around his face impossibly, despite the black that dripped from his lips. She could not believe it was him. He looked so _young._ She lifted her hand to scrub at her eyes.

That dark hair streaming, streaked with silver, was long gone unseen and unfamiliar, but unmistakable, it's owner’s face twisted into a grim look as they surveyed the horizon, flag flying just above them, wind blowing, as she peeked from around the mast. They hung, balanced, from one hand gripping the mast rigging, gaze steely. He knew that face, that woman. So foreign, yet so close.

He staggered back against the starboard side in horrified recognition, lifting his hand to clutch at his empty chest. “Mi corazón.”

Her boots hit the wood surface with twin thumps that seemed to reverberate through the floor beneath them.

“Querido Armando, mi amor.” Her voice was hard, weak as it was from sheer shock, and he strode toward her, stopping just short of her. “Veinticinco años.” her feet crossed over each other as she paced around him, hips swaying with barely concealed rage, fingers white knuckled on her sword. “Twenty five years, Armando. I looked for you for twenty five years. I followed every lead, every legend of torched ships, every story of the Devil’s Triangle.” She laughed, a heavy dark sound, and shook her head. “And this is where I find you.”

Everyone just sort of looked at each other, each wondering if what was happening was really happening. El Matador Del Mar, cowed by some sword wielding matron, and not only that, the matron was his long lost _wife_.

He reached for her, but his fingers stopped just short of her weathered face, as if realizing he should not touch her, not willing to taint her in that way. Her eyelids fluttered closed, expecting the brush of his fingertips across her aged skin for the first time in more than two decades. When it never came, the look that crossed her face was disappointment. Not anger, not anything else. She looked at him for several minutes, not saying a damn thing.

“I believed you were dead.”

“Si, cariño.” The ache in his voice was palpable. “I _am_ dead.” He moved in closer like he was going to kiss her but stopped just short of her lips, and she just stared, taking in every little detail of his face. The things she missed, and the new things she did not yet understand. Her fingers danced over his face, a shadow over the moon. The air that escaped his scorched ruined lungs was audible between them and her green eyes met his dark ones.

“How?”

“A story for another time. For now, you will tell me how you have come to find me.”

“El Matador Del Mar, hm? El Matador y la Burra. What a fine pair we make.”

“That is not an answer. You are a pirate.” He wasn't asking. That was a statement.

“Do you think they would have let me on a ship otherwise?”

She had a point, but still, the love of his life, becoming such filth, and for what? To save him from a Hell of his own making?

“Mi corazón, how could you do this thing, this _insult_ to everything I have ever stood for.” He moved to touch her, knuckles brushing her cheek. She fought a shiver at the cold.

(“What's going on?” One crewsman leaned in, whispering to the other. “Y’got me. ‘s like some silly novel.”)

“What would I have been to you then, a war widow? You left me behind to chase after some distant course, some dream you could never conquer. You left behind a daughter, a _family_.” The poor excuse for his breath halted in his hollow chest at those words.

“What is her name?”

“Marinetta Armandita Corazón Espinoza Salazar.”

Something that could have passed as a smile crossed his ragged lips, blackened teeth showing past them.

“She is married now, has sons of her own. ”

“Sons.” He sounded incredulous as he repeated her words.

“Two, I believe. Strong boys, named for you. She married a bullfighter.”

He snorts, and spits black onto the deck. “Did you approve this marriage?”

“I did not tell her no, that she could not marry him. She married for love, querido. How could I tell her she could not.”

A sound like laughter eked from between his ribs and he turned to stare at her again. “So sentimental, mi amor. Your heart of fire has turned to ash.”

“And yours as well.” She took in the way his hair moved as if in water, his scorched face. “Far more than mine has. Do you still love me, or has time and age dimmed what once burned?” Her eyes were glued to his expression, and she searched his face for the answer.

“I burn for one thing only. Revenge. ‘Mena, you do not understand this, and I hope you never will.”

“Perhaps I hate the sea for what it has taken from me.” Her words cut him deep, eyes flashing with anger. “The man I love is dead because of you, and because of it.”

“The man you loved.” Salazar took a step to the side. “The man you spent half a lifetime searching for.”

Her shoulders fell. “The man I married, the father of my child.” All of the hot air went out of her in a rush, and she went to the side, leaning against the ship's railing. He came up behind her, maintaining a cool distance between the two of them. She heard him approach before she saw him. “It was stolen from you. I am that thief.”

She tips her head back, taking a deep breath. “This folly of yours, this impossible course of action, it is why I'm here.”

With a tap of his sword on the deck, he gathered her attention. She paused, glancing only out the corner of her eye at him. “Mi esposa, once he is dead, once I have finished what I had set out to do, para tu, para nuestras familia.”

Her chest heaved, and she spun to face him, unable to believe the words she was hearing. “ _Mi_ familia. No es tuyo.”

The breath that scraped upward from his destroyed lungs was pained, as he backed up, gaze wandering across the deck, searching for something to stop this feeling that was welling up inside him. “‘Mena, mi amor--”

“I raised our daughter. Alone, Armando. Do you know what it was like, hoping and praying you would come home safe, every day for the past 25 years?”

“No.” He simply replied, and her tough exterior cracked, frown deepening. “I have not seen the sunlight for twenty five years, I have not thought of life outside in twenty five years. I have been dead, trapped in a Hell of my own creation.”

Her expression shattered and she turned her head away, hair falling down in front of her face like a silver laced curtain. “I wish I could say i have been dead without you, Armando, but I lived for myself.” This time his palm landed, somewhere on her back. She froze, fingers grasping at the sword on her hip.

“Do not presume to believe you know me as I am.” Jimena rounded on him, sword pointed toward his throat. “You forfeited that when you abandoned me for some distant dream.”

He swung, parrying, and she slipped backward, light on her feet, landing a glancing blow on his side. It was as if he could not feel it, black liquid pouring from the gash. Another strong swing was parried, knocking him off balance. She was quick, and he wasn't expecting it, the way she drove him back so effortlessly, using the bulk of his weight against him. “Do you expect to kill me again, mi amor?” He asked, waiting for her to strike. “Why did you never remarry?”

“Innocenté Delgado wished to court me. I allowed him close, but he only wanted the land my father had left me, and the coin I had received from the Navy at your passing.” She had backed him up against the mast, sword pointed at him. “Perhaps the only good thing I had learned when alone was how to defend myself.”

He took vicious hold of her wrist as she was distracted and dragged her in by the arm, changing places with her with ease. Her back hit the mast and she winced. “I left the land to Marinetta, and bought a ship with the coin, and a crew. La Corazón Dolorosa.”

Jimena looked toward him with a gaze like steel, expecting a wounding blow to be delivered, and in an instant Salazar had a fist twisted in her hair, and her eyes flashed in anger, expecting him to hurt her in retaliation, before he was tipping her mouth to his. He tasted of gunpowder, burnt metal and ash, seawater and the same painful familiarity of his mouth she had missed for over two decades; and an ache rose in her, starting low in the pit of her belly. She dropped her sword, letting him take hold of her, searching her mouth with a cold tongue that tasted like old blood.

“I fear for you, mi corazón.” He murmured, when he let her go. Her gaze was locked on his, and he reached out to touch the black liquid that lurked in the corner of her mouth, wiping it away with his thumb.

“You don't need to fear. I'm strong enough to take care of myself.”

“That is not what I fear.” His lips shook, and she watched the way his head dropped, gaze wandering perpetually.

“What did they do to you, Armando?” She lifted his face, fingertips brushing the ragged edges of his face. Particles of ash brushed off and floated around them, orbiting him lazily.

He crushed her fingers in his fist, tearing her hand from the last rotting vestiges of his flesh. “Nothing I will worry you with.”

“I am not a child, Armando! Not some shrinking violet! Do you not remember who you married?”

“No,” his voice was gravel. “I remember.” He paused, voice ragged - “Should I tell you each minute detail of my passing, of that of my crew?”

Her face drained of color. “I can see well enough what happened.”

“Do you know?” He rounded on her, so close. The cold sensation that radiated off him was oppressive, threatening in its proximity. “Truly?”

“I do not _fear_ the truth.”

“No,” he responded, shaking his head, “No. It is not fear that cuts you deep.” She stared, frown trembling. “Pain. A loving heart that has long since gone dim burns once again and it is destroying you.”

“I welcome it.” She replied, clipped, each consonant cutting, and he took a step back. “I do not fear death.” Her hand clutched at the cross around her neck. “I fear an eternity without you. Paradise will not be, without you there beside me.”

“And if there is no paradise for either of us.”

“I've burned enough already,” she eased in closer, her expression twisted in anger, inches from his. “Hell will be no different.”

“Hell is living without you.”

“You are not living.” She answered, coldly.

“You tremble.” His fingers brushed her arm, and Jimena held her breath. “Even now, you tremble at the sight of me.”

He tipped his head to the side, studying her. She straightened up, lifting her chin.

“Twenty five years without you.” She murmured through gritted teeth. “I tremble because you are mine.”

His gaze did not break, head tilting back to regard her. “And you have found me here. Hell has come nipping at my heels like a stray.”

Jimena shifted in anger, expression frozen in fury. “I will not depart until I know what has been done. Until what must be done is done.”

“If you kill him, I…” His dark gaze leveled upon her expression.

“You will kill me too?” Jimena focused her gaze on him, the stern line of his brow. “Do I doubt your power?” Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “It is not your power, it is your willingness to hurt me I doubt.”

The sound he let out was soft, a dry chuckle that came out like the clicking of so many bones together. “Do you take me for a coward?”

“You have not changed, not in twenty five years, Armando.” She hissed, “Your heart burns for revenge, but you still cannot do anything to me.”

His fingers brushed the front of her shirt, but did not come to land anywhere on her person. Jimena stood up stiffly, and Salazar’s fingers found home at the crook of her elbow. Her eyes settled closed, weary.

“Captain.” Jimena began, to Barbossa.

“Let me speak to him alone. In privacy.”

“Privacy enough in the captain's quarters, milady.” Barbossa was openly mocking her, calling her _milady_ and Jimena could see the anger that flashed bright across Salazar’s expression at the disrespect they were showing her.

This was the cabin of a stranger, a foreign bed she was seated on the edge of, and her husband, long since dead, lost at sea, was busy helping her undress with shaking hands.

When he peeled back his uniform to reveal just what had happened to him, it was a surreal image. His chest had not been so much as touched beside the telltale scars and bullet holes, but his back and his side were blackened, cracked and shedding ash into the air around him, his legs burnt and twisted.

“Look at me, mi corazón.” She chewed her lip between her teeth, staring. Her gaze lingered long and hard on his body, what was left of it. “This is no longer the body of the man you married.”

“I am no stranger to the passage of time, Armando.” She shrugged out of her shirt, and his cold palms spread across her bare chest. She rolled her head back on her shoulders and let her hair loose across her back. It was just as long as he recalled, but the color was not quite the silky ravens feathers it used to be, instead threaded through with silver, much more than he would have expected. “I do not fear what you have become. Even the damned may leave purgatory at some point.”

His fingers raced up her side and she turned away, hair falling down her chest.

“Why do you turn from me?”

“Do you think I am the same woman you married? One child and thirty years later?”

His lips twitched in lieu of a real answer, but he took her wrist in his hand, drawing her palm to his mouth. Her voice wavered, hesitant. “You have not aged, not changed one bit. I…”

“Te amo.” He whispered against the pulse point of her wrist, feeling the unerring rush of blood in her veins. Jimena’s face colored despite herself, and she shifted, pressing her legs together tight to hide her arousal. “Does that change anything? Te amo, ‘Mena, and that will never leave me.”

He pressed another dry kiss to the inside of her elbow, and then another on the crux of her shoulder. “Te amo,” he murmured against the soft skin between her breasts, sensitive enough as he kissed down her dusky flesh. A harsh breath and then he muttered it again, _Te amo_ , pausing as he kissed the scarred expanse of her stomach and dragged her trousers down past her knees. Jimena’s fingers curled into his hair as it floated, tugging only a little. His lips spread in a wide smile against the flesh of her inner thigh, before he kissed there as well, voice dropping to an erotic whisper that was low and sensuous. “Te amo.”

He swiped his blackened tongue along her sweet slit and she nearly melted into the mattress at that touch alone. “Armando, por favor,” she whined, before moaning out loud, and then covering her mouth so no one else heard them. He pressed a finger into her aching core, and a ragged sound was pulled from her, eking out past her hands on her mouth. She fell back against the bed, knees drawn up on either side of her, and he knelt between them.

When he pushed into her, Jimena’s mouth opened and her back arched as he slid into her, bottoming out inside her.

The air that escaped him was harsh, ragged breath, and her nails clawed at the blackened rough edges of his shoulders, sending ash to orbit them, catching light through the window. He slammed her down against the bed, and her lungs fought for air. His palms, ragged, torn, burned like ice across her heated skin as he grasped at her soft curves, following the planes of her body.

 

* * *

 

She emerged first, dressed impeccably, hours later, a haughty look as she surveyed the crew where they stood, apparently listening in. She made a shooing motion with her hand, lifting her sword in a threat, and they scattered. Barbossa was left standing there, and Jimena pointed her sword at his throat. “Not a single word about this, bastardo.”

“Of course not.” He drawled, watching her stride away. “The doings of a man and his wife are not my business. Even when what they're doing happens to be on my ship, in my bed.”

She turned to look at him, a good distance away, across the deck. “Do you know what I have given up to be on the sea, to find him?”

“I could imagine.” He answered, expression open. He was mocking again, and Jimena frowned. “Twenty five years without the touch of a woman? I'm surprised he didn't tear you apart.”

Her frown deepened and she turned toward him fully. “What do you know of him, if he would do such a thing to me?”

“Take a look at my crew, darlin’, or what's left of it.”

“He killed pirates, Captain. Is that not his chosen path?”

“Aye, but you best be looking at yourself. A pirate he sees and a pirate you'll be.”

“I take no pain in my husband seeing what I've become.” Jimena took several deliberate steps back toward Barbossa. “But he was my husband before he was El Matador.”

He let out a breath, watching her shoulders slump. “Twenty five years. Do you believe it's long enough for memory to endure?”

“I can't answer that, Captain.” She paused and Barbossa’s lips twitched like he was hiding a smile.

“Perhaps now he’ll leave us all be, satisfied enough with your love.”

Jimena’s eyes shut tight as she considered his words. “I don't believe in miracles.”

“Or maybe you killed him dead with what's ‘tween your legs. A small miracle enough.”

Salazar eventually emerged from the doorway after her, after a few moments, phasing through it like it was nothing. Even so, he was solid, clamping a cold hand on Barbossa’s shoulder, before squeezing hard enough to make his arm numb.

“You leave my wife alone, eh, hombre? Or I'll cut out your tongue and feed it to the sharks.”

“Would that be before or after you kill me.”

It's a low sound like a ship scraping rocks that escapes him, and Barbossa barely recognizes it as laughter.

“Before. I want to see you choke on your own blood before I tear you limb from limb.”

“A lovely image. But, unfortunately, that won't be happening.” He gestured to the small island on the horizon, and then the ship they were coming close to.

“Ah.” His eyes were wild, staring at the ship as they approached it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and by "explicit" i mean they do, bone, or at least as much as one can fuck a ghost? i love writing barbossa hes such garbo. this chapter i was so embarrassed to post lmfao because Fuck! That! Ghost!
> 
> also hey im bad at spanish lmfao

**Author's Note:**

> i wasnt kidding when i said this is 99% bullshit lmfao also im so embarrassed to post this and idk why


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